


now the day bleeds (into nightfall)

by NatureGirl202



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/M, SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS, also i never know how to end things help, writing for a new fandom always makes me nervous lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatureGirl202/pseuds/NatureGirl202
Summary: de sardet dies with her cousin. kurt is left with the pieces.





	now the day bleeds (into nightfall)

**Author's Note:**

> requested by phantom-wolf on tumblr. muse is someone you loved by lewis capaldi.

His thumb strokes her cheek, her skin soft as it’s always been, but strikingly cold. The bright light of the sun is disappearing behind the horizon and his own face is chilled by the soft breeze. Constantin’s morphed body lies only a few feet away and it’s quiet. A firm hand grips his shoulder and he sucks in a quaking breath and it is quiet no longer—he can hear the leaves brushing against each other in the breeze, the shuffling feet, and hushed whispers of others. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, her head cradled in his lap and lifeless gaze staring into nothing.

“My friend,” the Naut’s voice is softer than his grip, nearly carried away by the breeze, “we must go.”

* * *

“A decision must be made as to what to do with… her body.” Siora is quiet, hesitant. Kurt downs the last of his whiskey, grabs the bottle, and pours himself another glassful before tearing his eyes away from the fireplace to look to Siora.

“What decision would that be?”

Siora wrings her fingers together, but her gaze holds steady. “I know the _renaigse_ have traditions of their own, but her clan has requested she be buried according to our traditions… among their dead.”

He wants, immediately, to deny the request. Those people barely know her, their only claim that of blood which means little in his mind. He thinks, though, of the raptured way she’d listened to her aunt’s tales of her birth mother. He remembers how her already high curiosity about the natives had risen, suddenly having a million questions a day for Siora about her culture.

He can’t fathom her wishing to be so far from Constantin, though.

Petrus speaks before Kurt can muster a response: “I’m sure the Prince will have something to say about the burials for both she and her cousin, once the news reaches him.” Of course, there are politics even in death. He knows there are eyes watching and he knows what others would do. Theleme would have Constantin’s body burned and hers buried in some pompously religious ceremony. The Bridge Alliance wouldn’t have much care for hers, but would no doubt want to cut open Constantin’s. The Prince would shove Constantin aside, bury him somewhere he could be forgotten and never found, while holding De Sardet up as an example of the perfect noble.

He stares into his whiskey and remembers a moment. It’d been shortly after the Coin Guard’s attempted coup and during one of Constantin’s better days. She’d taken her cousin on a day trip—and Kurt had accompanied as protection, of course—in an attempt to take his mind off of things, even if for just a short while. She’d taken him to a hill just a few hours outside New Serene that she was particularly fond of for whatever softhearted reason. It had a decent view, he admitted, overlooking a field of wild flowers. The day had been growing old and the time to return near, when, in a quiet moment he’d had no right to witness, Constantin had requested she bury him there.

He downs the entire glass before finally speaking. “To hell with the Prince.” He looks up, meeting Siora’s gaze. “Perform your ceremony, but bury her and her cousin on that damned hill.”

* * *

“You haven’t gone upstairs” Vasco’s tone is as nonchalant as he thinks the seaman capable of. He doesn’t respond, just takes a drink from the bottle in his hand, the cheap alcohol burning his mouth and throat. He doesn’t say that he can’t, he’s unable find it in himself to walk those familiar steps, to gaze upon the bed they’d shared. It is hard enough fighting the memories on any given moment—he can acutely recall the feel of her skin on his, her hair between his fingers, her laugh as he took advantage of one of her many ticklish spots. He cannot have them brought so bluntly before him.

“Her possessions must be collected,” Vasco continues, “I’ve heard they’re moving the new legate in within a week’s time.”

Kurt knows, but he can’t recall any particular item of hers she’d truly been attached to that had not been buried with her, so he can’t find it in himself to care. Vasco lets out a sigh, turns his attention to the globe, spinning it slowly with one hand. “I’ve been given my ship back. I set sail tomorrow.” He’ll be the last of them, the odd group she’d gathered around herself. Siora had already returned to her clan, and Aphra and Petrus to their respective cities. He should care, and he thinks he does, somewhere, but he’s numb to everything but the pain in his chest and bottle in his hand.

Vasco waits only a few moments, before gazing around the room one final time, then tipping his hat. “Best of luck to you, Captain.”

* * *

The tavern is crowded, but not enough to drown out the voices of the two priests on the other end of the bar. He tries to ignore them, get lost in his own drink, but they’re loud and pompous in that way the most obnoxious of Theleme’s priests are. Also drunk, apparently feeling more loose in New Serene than they would in their own city.

“-soul will be judged, that De Sardet woman.” He stiffens, grip tightening on his cup. The mention of her cuts through him as usual, but this time the wound ignites with fury. It’d been difficult enough to listen to strangers judge her when… when she’d been _here_. Now? He finds his control lacking. His face must betray something, because the innkeeper gives him a nervous look.

“Why that heretic of a woman is so well-regarded, I’ve no idea. She was lost, truly. Constantly consorting with the savages! The reason, no doubt, for her cousin becoming possessed by a demon.”

Kurt takes one last gulp of his drink, turns, and hurtles his cup at the two priests. There’s a loud _thunk_ as the thick, wooden cup collides with the skull of one. He’s too drunk to remember how the rest of the evening goes, but the next morning his knuckles are sore and he’s not allowed back in the tavern.

* * *

“You’re hurting.” He knows he’s dreaming, because he’s lying in her bed and not his shitty one in the barracks, he’s facing her, and he’s listening to her speak. Her long hair is loose and free and her soft eyes are digging into his soul the way they always have. He reaches a hand out, cups her face, and brushes his thumb along her cheek.

“You were my everything” he admits, brokenly, crumbling in a way he’s unable to in the waking world. “And I failed you.”

She grabs the hand caressing her face, entwines their fingers. “No, you didn’t.” She pauses, glances over his shoulder. “Not in that way.” He shifts to look, sees a collection of empty alcoholic bottles on the nightstand. Shame curls in his gut, but when he turns back to her, her gaze is still soft and loving and completely unjudging. He goes to speak, but she’s grabbing his face, pulling herself closer, and pressing her forehead to his. He breathes in her scent desperately and the pain in his chest dulls. “I am at peace,” she whispers fiercely, “now you must be too.”

He doesn’t know how, not at all, but she has requested this of him, so at the very least he could try.

**Author's Note:**

> also on [tumblr](https://bxtgrl.tumblr.com/post/188072068942/now-the-day-bleeds-into-nightfall). <3


End file.
